


The Singularity

by happygolovely



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Affection, Asexuality Spectrum, Declarations Of Love, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Intimacy, M/M, Minor Violence, Mutual Pining, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Prose Poem, Relationship Study, Romance, Romantic Friendship, Water
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 06:43:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13265883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happygolovely/pseuds/happygolovely
Summary: “You love me,” Ed says matter of factly.There are 165,000 species of butterflies found on every continent except Antarctica. Green is the brightest on the color spectrum, the most visible to the human eye.Oswald Cobblepot loves him.





	The Singularity

He keeps an index in the back of his dresser behind some crossword puzzles and old case files. A catalog of touches. Fleeting, firm and final. He replays them over and over again, analyzing every nuance and shift. People don’t like to touch him if they can help it and most of the touches are incidental, extraneous detail filed under white noise.

This is different.  This is new.  

Oswald’s hands are a revelation.  He carries such strength in him and it flows through his hands, electrifying. Short-circuiting. He always moves with purpose and deliberation yet Ed cannot fathom his reasons for this. He can never discern what the catalyst was but there is a shift.

There’s a certainty to the way Oswald waits for him, arm outstretched. He takes ahold of him and guides him through a crowded ballroom. Oswald is perfectly capable of navigating the world by himself. Neither of them mentions it.

He’s wearing gloves tonight as if they need yet another layer between them. Always so guarded, armor made of silk and pride.

Ed wants to rip it to shreds with his teeth.  

The hot press of fingertips against his jacket burns through the fabric and brands him. Oswald already occupies every crevice of his mind, now he seeks to claim his skin as well.  

Never content with what he has, always expanding his territory. There's nothing Oswald could take from him he wouldn't willingly give.  

 

* * *

 

It starts like this: _that’s quite a mouth you’ve got there it’s going to get you into all sorts of trouble someone has to keep you in line you need a firm hand you’d like that wouldn’t you_

It starts like this: Oswald, furious and fearsome, shoving him up against the wall. Knife at his throat and Ed yearning, keening in his ear. _yes yes just like that please please need you i need you don't leave me_

It starts like this: “You’re standing too close.” He steps forward, no space left between them. Reaches out and pulls his hair. Bares his neck. Those bright eyes glaring up at him. The last thing men see before they die. To be so lucky.

He wakes up alone.

A series of knocks at the door. He taps back the sequence so Oswald knows not to come in. They developed this pattern after too many nights of waking to each other's screams.

_oswald comes in and sits beside him humming lullabies foreign and strange he does not speak a word of it all he can hear is love love love on the tip of his tongue it tumbles and trembles oswald speaks love so fluently he is only beginning to understand_

_all the love in his body stuck inside his head it rattles and roars and not a word of it comes out_

_wakes up to find oswald curled around the pillow, tears in his eyes fast asleep_ **_mother mother mother where are you come back_ **

_ed rubs circles on his back, switches to figure eights whispers nonsense in his ear, a steady stream of information to soothe and sedate in equal measure oswald always says that puts him right to sleep and sure enough it does he lets go of the pillow and turns over, pulling ed into his arms a replacement for the pillow nothing more, no matter what ed might wish he is stunned unable to move, oswald snores loudly in his ear ed smiles_

The absence of him permeates the air, musky cologne on the sheets. He buries his head in the pillow and tries to capture the scent.

Resigns himself to another restless night of wondering. Hope beats its wings inside his ribcage. He pushes it down, chokes on feathers.

Gratitude. That’s what he feels for him. After so many years without a friend, it is natural. There’s nothing simple about simple friendship, not to a man who has never had it. It is good that Oswald stayed away tonight. It has to be enough.

He doesn’t think he could bare to have him in his bed right now, doesn’t know how to negotiate this ever-shifting line between them.

The line in the sand washed away by the waves.

 

* * *

 

It’s already a foregone conclusion, just a matter of degrees of intimacy. Soon, he thinks, it will happen soon. They stand on a precipice, overlooking a great fall.

Hands clasped together, waves against the rocks. Erosion is a process that takes thousands of years, gradually shaping over time.  Oswald has battered him down in little under eleven months.

He doesn’t mind.

They sit by the fire, their shoes full of seawater. Oswald toes off his socks and hangs them up on the mantle to dry. He leaves and returns with blankets, robes, and tea. He changed out of his suit into a fresh pair of black silk pajamas, lightly striped. His hair undone and ravaged by the wind. He looks so much smaller like this, nothing to hide behind. His feet bare on the hardwood floor.

Eyeliner smudged by the corner, eyes clear as firelight. He hands him a cup of tea, ginger hot against his throat.

Oswald is wrapped up in blankets only the top of his head showing and Ed is still chilled to the bone. The phantom sensation of a suit clinging to his skin, wet fabric pressed against him.

He steals some of the blankets and settles down with his head in his lap. Oswald makes a token noise of protest but nothing more.

Runs fingers through his hair, all the product washed away.

Ed hums contentedly and stretches up into it, a cat sitting in a patch of sunlight. He has never known such peace. Doesn’t know what to do with it. Abruptly shatters it.

“You love me,” Ed says matter of factly.

There are 165,000 species of butterflies found on every continent except Antarctica. Green is the brightest on the color spectrum, the most visible to the human eye. Oswald Cobblepot loves him.

Clear, observable truth. It unravels and ensnares him.

“Yes. I do.” Oswald presses a kiss to the top of his head. “Have for some time now, good of you to finally notice.”

“How long?” Ed dreads the answer. He can’t believe it didn’t occur to him sooner.

The love that pours from his eyes, spills from his skin. The tenderest touch leaves marks for days on end. He fancies he can see them now, dark and bloody and pristine.

“Longer than you would think. I really couldn’t tell you where it started. I’ve never - with anyone. Ever. You’re the only one.”  

“Good. I don’t want there to be anyone else.”

His hands stop in his hair. He presses into the touch and he quickly takes up the task again.  

“Is that all?”  

Ed blinks up at him.

“What more is there to say?”  

Oswald laughs a slick awful sound. “I don’t know what more I expected from you. A modicum of humanity. Good night, Edward.”

He stands up suddenly, eases Ed back down on the couch before he goes.

He sits in total confusion.  

The penny drops like a hammer to the head. He springs up in his seat and races up the stairs.  

Oswald is halfway up the landing, progress hindered by his leg.  Ed slams him up against the banister, reaches for him at last.

Kisses him tenderly, tortuously. As if it was his only purpose in being. Kisses him until he cannot breathe, doesn’t care if he suffocates under the white blazing heat. His whole body molecularized down to the place their lips touch.   

_love love love all that i am all that i ever was is yours till the blood in me runs dry what have you done to me you vicious thing with your bright eyes, your sharp teeth_

Oswald sobs against his mouth. Hands splayed out against the banister. Helpless, hopeless. Nothing could ever save him from this man. He will never survive him.

He reaches out with shaking hands and holds on for dear life.

Kisses him and drowns a hundred times over. Water fills up his lungs, as he sinks deep below the surface. That siren song as he crashes up against the bones of him, hands tangled in his hair.  

They break apart and he breathes for the first time in years. Ed crowds up against him, pressing harsh lovely words against his mouth. A thousand cuts, a thousand kisses.

“Easy there, my love. I’m right here. Not going anywhere.” He wants to cry for the joy of it. He does.  

Ed’s smile incandescent and fierce. He hushes him quietly, marveling at the tears. Such lovely little things. The chemical composition of tears differs depending on the emotion produced.

Wants to take them under a microscope and study them extensively, draw the exact topography of his happiness from memory. Needs to replicate the results as frequently as possible.

For now, he settles for taste. Wipes the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand and sucks the moisture of his fingers. _salt salt salt it always returns to the ocean with you what are you doing in a place like this you belong somewhere good somewhere more hospitable to your kind_

Kisses the tears off his cheeks till he’s laughing, trembling. Kisses him quietly, although no less desperate for it. They have all the time in the world, he cannot waste a nanosecond of it.

Oswald pulls back, breathing too fast. His heart a metronome swinging wildly. Off balance, off tempo. Ed Nygma sends him reeling. He wraps himself around him and hears his heartbeat. It stops and stutters. A wild cacophony. It nearly matches his own.

They hover suspended in a moment, trapped in a feedback loop. Two figures almost in sync but never quite. Their feet dig grooves into the ground, music wearing thin in the air.

Until Ed changes the tempo. Until he steps out of bounds.  

Ed’s hands slide low to the small of his back, pulling them flesh together. “Come to bed with me.”

Just like that, it’s over.

Oswald retreats a tactical decision, not a surrender. He’s not frightened he’s not, it’s just too much the heat and the moment pressing down on him until he cannot breathe.

“It’s a little sudden, don’t you think? No need to move so quickly.”  

Ed is bewildered. They’ve been moving at a glacial pace by anyone’s standards. Then he sees the way Oswald is looking at him. An obstacle to overcome, an enemy to vanquish. Not a lover, barely even a friend.

“Yes, of course.” He kisses the back of Oswald’s hand, his glare melts fractionally. “Slow is good.”  

He smiles. Such stark relief, it's devastating to watch. He never thought Oswald could look at him like that.

“We understand each other then. I’ll just - I’ll be off. Good night.”  

He flutters awkwardly for a moment, leans up and presses the lightest of kisses against his cheek. Ed stands in the middle of the staircase. Heads up to bed, regrettably alone.

He frantically recalculates, wondering if it is possible to misread someone so thoroughly. He was so certain of his place in Oswald’s affection and now he doesn’t know where he stands.

Falls off the edge, to find he’s falling alone. Hands desperately reach out for him. Pockets full of stones. The red tide claims him.  

 

* * *

 

In the morning he emerges, cleansed and certain. His purpose crystallized.

He looks with clear eyes for the first time in months. Constructs a three dimensional model of all their interactions, a small softly glowing cube. Turns it over and over, looking for hidden catches and releases. He wears down the edges of it, shakes it, breaks. Glass and smoke shattering on the floor.

Nothing. What a waste. Carefully, he takes it up again. Ice cutting into his palms. Cold water falls out the sides and on the inside - there it is. There you are at last.  

Such a fool he is. No matter. Greater men have been fools for lesser things. Ed is hard pressed to think of a man greater than himself. In fact, he can think of only one.  

He cradles the fragments in his hands, watching as they reform themselves. What a curious creature, this bird of his.

_what a riddle_

* * *

 

 

It presents a setback certainly. Unexpected but not insurmountable. Oswald’s aversion to touch seems to be limited to anything overtly sexual.

He has no objections to kissing, which Ed is quick to take full advantage of. He finds himself kissing him at every available opportunity, craving it with an intensity that borders on pathology.

Understands how people can devote full days to this, entire lifetimes.  

Oswald gives as good as he gets, kissing him stupid and pressing documents into his hands afterwards. Ed will agree to just about anything and Oswald bends him into compliance. It is a devastatingly effective tactic, he should apply this in all business deals. No, no no that’s a terrible idea. Ed would have to kill them.  

They settle into an intimacy which is remarkably similar to their friendship with few variations. Most notably, the kisses of course but Ed is pleasantly surprised by the new facets of their relationship beyond the physical.

He didn’t have very long with Miss Kringle before their unfortunate parting, the time he did have limited by a need to shelter her from himself. He has no such reservations with Oswald.  

They can happily skip from brunch to torture session in a single afternoon, discuss criminal enterprises over orange juice and blueberry pancakes. Plot and scheme with the best of them, holding hands on top of the table.If any of their associates take issue with this development, they say nothing. A wise decision. They present a united front in all things, hearts and minds moving in perfect symmetry.

Until they go to bed and Ed is lost.

Stumbles under the covers, into a war zone. Foreign territory he is not prepared to navigate.

Oswald is blithely unaware of his predicament. Perfectly content with the occasional cuddle, most of the time he reads. Pretentious Russian novels that he mocks frequently. He considers writing under a pseudonym. Dimitri something or another. Ed has his scientific journals, which need correction more often than not. Takes up lab work again out of sheer frustration with the entire field. He can run circles around all of them. If only they would print his scathing responses.

The resurgence of his scientific interests is sublimation but that’s neither here nor there.

Never thought of himself as particularly sex driven but this is on a whole nother level. It’s startling. Intriguing.  

There are of course plenty of species who reproduce asexually. It’s not terribly uncommon in nature. He just never thought he’d have a hands-on experience. Hands off as the case may be.

The question, of course, is the extent of his disinterest. There are three possible explanations:  

  * Psychological: Trauma-Induced, linked to his violent upbringing.
  * Physiological: Genuine Apathy, simply not wired that way.  
  * Circumstantial: Lack of Opportunity, or a worthy partner



If it is the first, there are steps they can take to rectify it. If the second, there’s very little to be done and he will accept it. If the third is correct than Oswald has never known another person.

Not the way Ed wants to know him.

_i’ve never - with anyone. ever. you’re the only one._

It’s a ridiculous notion, of course. Virginity is a social construct. There is no true innocence not in Gotham. Even if he has never been with anyone, he still has preconceptions about intimacy. Fantasies and fears, just as any ordinary man. Still, it’s compelling.

_one and only the singularity to be chosen to be the first_

Oswald has taught him so much. Time to return the favor.

 

* * *

 

They stand in the center of the lounge a little after closing. Loose-limbed and liquidated. Lean into each other, barely standing straight.  

Oswald looks at him. Takes a long pull from his glass.

“Kneel.”

“Excuse me.” Infuriating, intoxicating man. The arrogance of it, the presumption.

“Don’t make me ask twice.”  

Ed glares at him sharply, makes a show of it. Sets his drink down on the bar.

Slides to his knees.

Eyes move to the amethyst knuckle duster, covered in blood. He beat a man half to death with those very hands not two hours ago.  

Oswald’s hand on his chin, tipping it up.  

Prepares for a harsh touch, a harsher demand.

_break me mold me in any way you see fit_

_up on a pedestal down on my knees it’s all the same_

Oswald kisses him, so softly it shatters.

“That’s much better. You should stay here, far easier to kiss you.”

_of course, of course, that’s all this is you still won’t take what is yours_

He kisses the ring, blood in his mouth. Silently offers everything that he is, throws himself at his feet.

Oswald kisses and kisses him, doesn’t seem to care that he’s ripped out the very core of him.  

“Finally brought me down to your level, have you?”  

“Something like that. You’re far too tall. It’s irritating.”

“I’ll be sure to saw off my legs as soon as possible.”

“Hmmm, you do that.”  Smiles fond and tipsy. Drunk on the moment, on the man. Champagne bubbles that pop and burst whenever he’s near.

He should have stopped at the third glass, he’s getting trite.   

It never ceases to astound him. The power they hold over each other. Piano wire around their necks.

He takes pity on the poor man in front of him.  Sinks down to the floor and the noose loosens.  

His knees protest the movement and he will pay for this in the morning when he takes an extra pill just to function.

For now, Ed is smiling at him. That’s everything.

He grabs their drinks and they hide out under the bar stools.  

They start a drinking game of all the people they hate. Forget the rules about a half hour in, passing straight past drunk and well into hammered. This reminds Ed of a bawdy joke about a hammerhead and a nail gun. They laugh until they can’t breathe.  

“What’s a place like you doing in a guy this?” Ed is slightly, terribly tipsy. Topsy turvy.

“Friends with the owner.”  

“So am I!” Ed says, greatly enthused. “We’re close.”

“The rumors are true then. Slept your way to the top.”

“God, I wish.” He sighs. “I really do.”

“Do you miss it?” He asks quietly.

_is this not enough for you, am i not enough_

He considers it for a while, long enough for Oswald to contemplate just setting the man on fire and being done with it.

His words come out slightly soggy and slurred yet still coherent.

“I’ve only ever been with one person really. Miss Kringle died shortly thereafter. I am not eager to repeat that experience. I would like to have new ones eventually. When you’re ready. If.”

“What if I’m never ready, what happens then?”

He pulls him closer until they’re lying next to each other. Oswald rests his head on his chest.

“You’re everything I never knew I wanted. I never thought of you as a possibility, you are so outside the spectrum of anything I could have imagined. You are extraordinary. We will build an extraordinary life together. With or without that.”

Oswald is crying once more, cannot help it.

_i am afraid that if i open myself i will not stop pouring_

_(why do i fear becoming a river what mountain gave me such shame.)_

Ed takes a small vial out of his pocket, gathers up the tears as best he can.

“They’re the good kind, right?”

“Yes. Very good.”

_thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you_

 

* * *

 

Carries the vial in his pocket, rubbing his fingers over it every chance he gets. Moves it to a chain around his neck to keep it safe. A talisman of sorts.

Holds it under the microscope for days on end. Fascinating. Crystals under the light, such intricate patterns, and swirls.

He seems sometimes to be translucent, made of spun sugar and snowdrops. Blue blood running through his veins, purple shadows under his eyes.  

Ice sticks up out of his bones and he jams them into a man’s spinal column. Twists icicles under their fingernails and pulls them off one by one as they scream.

Such a fatal, fragile person.

Ed catches a fever in the middle of winter. Melts away in the sheets. Everything is a blurry, heated haze. His glasses on the bedside table, his books out of reach.

Oswald presses a cold compress to his forehead, wrings out the water.

“You’re running yourself ragged, pull yourself together. You’re no use to me like this.”

The soft look in his eyes bely the harsh words. A frantic, frightened edge.

Ed can’t speak around the pain in his throat. Drinks from his cup with a straw and dutifully chews on ice chips. Oswald brings him hot soup and pumpernickel bread, puzzle books and private jokes. Sits beside him in the bed, doesn’t care if the fever spreads.

What’s mine is yours, after all.

Reads aloud from scientific journals in silly voices. Ed chokes on a laugh. Tells outlandish lies about pirates in Gotham harbor, Jim Gordon, and a sea monster.Whispers stories from his childhood, folktales from the old world. They are grim, grotesque and utterly Gertrude.

“She would have liked you. You’re just the sort of man to bring home to mother.”

 

* * *

 

Ed in his finest pressed suit, hands full of lilies. Oswald opens the door and draws him into their world.

He stays there for hours, days, years. Time slips by. He plays the piano and they dance, off beat and off kilter. A rhythm entirely their own. They dust off a record and put it on the gramophone. Gertrude smiles and tells that a man named Elijah gave it to her many years ago. She teaches them to waltz. Oswald leads Ed humming quietly to himself counting steps.

They move together effortlessly, anticipating each other’s thoughts and motions. Two-part harmony. He has never felt such synchronicity, such balance.

Ed gets swept up by a crescendo and lifts him into the air. Twirls him around and laughs. Laughs and laughs. Sets him gently back to the ground. Unsteady and sure all at once.  

Oswald excuses himself to the kitchen. Takes a minute to soak it in. He comes back to find them conspiring against him, heads bent together.  

“You make an honest man out of my Osvald, yes?”  

“Mrs. Kapelput -”

“Gertrude, please.”

“Gertrude, I can assure I have every intention of doing so” He pulls a small black box out of his pocket and slides it across the table. “provided you give us your blessing.”

She squeals with delight.

“Oh, such good taste! So elegant, so refined. My boy is sophisticated, you know.”

“That he is. I take it you approve?”

“It is good yes, you have chosen well.”  

Ed turns back and sees Oswald standing in the doorway. Smiles slow and sure.  

“I certainly did.”

 

* * *

 

It starts like this:  It rains on a Tuesday afternoon. A sun shower.

Oswald tilts his head up to the sun and catches a drop of water in his mouth. Ed kisses him and tastes summer and spring and all the years to come.  

They race each other home, sliding through the grass. Oswald trips him with his cane and he stumbles. Falls flat on his face, laughing all the way.  

Ed reaches the door and Oswald seizes him up at the last second, carrying him over the threshold. He kicks out his feet and they tumble to the ground. Trade laughter and kisses.

He reaches for the buttons on his wet jacket and peels it off him. Wraps a hand around his tie and pulls him back down. Delirious and dripping.

Pours himself over him, daylight spilling in. Soaked to the soul. Flightless, breathless. His heart soars.  

Ed carries him to bed, moss clinging on the vine. They settle down against the sheets, still entwined. The heady weight of satisfaction and contentment. Affection and devotion.

There are plants that lie dormant underground. For years they wait. They bloom at the first taste of rain.   

“Are you certain?” Ed asks, lips pressed against his collarbone. “You don’t have to do this. Not if you don’t want to.”

Oswald runs a thumb across his cheek and smiles.

“Make love to me.”

Ed shudders against his skin.

“As sentimental as ever. Such an antiquated term, so imprecise. The physical parameters need to be established, please I -” He looks up helplessly. “All my research indicates the importance of express verbal consent for every physical act. What do you _want_?”

“Anything, everything.”  

Ed shakes his head. “You’re not the only one feeling vulnerable. I don’t want to lose you by rushing into this. A system. We need a system. Green light.”  

Oswald nods and takes his hand, placing it on his on the small of his back. “Green.”

Ed beams, pressing a quick grateful kiss to his neck.  

“I love -love-love you.”  He stutters over the words, rushed and insistent. “I needed to tell you before we - needed you to know it was real. It is real”

“I know.”

They kiss and drown, bathed under green light.

 

* * *

 

 

He keeps an index in the back of his dresser behind some silk gloves and old love letters. A catalog of touches. He knows the topography of his skin better than any puzzle.

The scars, the fractures, and rivers. He could recognize him by touch alone. Know him blind. Know him in death, at the end of the world.

It shifts from day to day. He walks a tightrope, loosely strung. Leans in for a kiss because a certain set to his shoulders tell him so. Reaches for his hand when he sees the shake in his knees. Learns to anticipate desires long before they are actualized. Delayed gratification is better than none. Over the years he becomes more affectionate, more demonstrative. Never loses that shyness, that lovely uncertainty. After all this time, Oswald still finds ways to surprise him.

He sees it on the mantelpiece one morning. A small, round music box made of gold. Intricately carved and ornate. He opens the lid and a starling flies out.

A gentle melody plays. He closes his eyes, cherishing every note. The sweetest sound in all the world. Rainwater spills over him, petrichor lingers in the air.

He takes up the box and analyzes it, runs his fingers over the mechanics and clockwork. Takes it into his lab, seeking answers underneath. Disassembles and reassembles it within a matter of minutes.

Winds it up and plays it again. Over and over.

Taps his pen against the side of his leg, counting measurements.  

Stop.  

Take it back to the start.

_There._

He frantically scrambles the coordinates onto his hand in green ink. Rushes out the door, barely remembering his hat and coat. They lead him to a lake. Weeping willows bending in the wind. A small boat floating out in the water. Oswald stands on a dock, hand outstretched. He takes his hand and follows him down into the water. Surrender themselves to the ebb and flow.

**Author's Note:**

> "I am afraid that if i open myself i will not stop pouring (why do i fear becoming a river, what mountain gave me such shame) - Erosion by Jamie Oliveira 
> 
> thank you to my friends for their inspiration, encouragement and support.  
> tumblr: happygoloony


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